


Bad Fight

by istehlurvz, mangochi, olavndr



Category: Black Sails, SilverFlint - Fandom
Genre: Emotional, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together, beginning of a beautiful romance, boxing au, part x of ?, they also watch the vhs of Rocky, two men very bad at emotionals fall in love and get beat up the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istehlurvz/pseuds/istehlurvz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/olavndr/pseuds/olavndr
Summary: John Silver has been managing James Flint in underground street boxing matches for almost a year now, and they're finally started to making some cash and maybe a little name for themselves. Unfortunately, notoriety draws unsavory people, and not every fight is a good one, even when you win.





	Bad Fight

**Author's Note:**

> This is Boxing AU, a Black Sails AU me and some friends made up to help us cope with the extreme emotional trauma that is the fantastic show Black Sails. 
> 
> James "Flint" McGraw was once a famous pro boxer who had a Gay Scandal that destroyed his life, forcing him to move to Miami to crash on the couch of his old friend Hal while he drank and punched his misery into the corner. One day, a smooth talking if jumpy man by the name of John Silver finds him getting wailed on in a back alley, and coerces him into a partnership for his own means. But then, feelings happen. 
> 
> anyway, definitely to toot our own horns, its real good yall. there is more, and we're hoping to put more out. i'm jazz and i wrote this one, so thanks for reading ~~ !!

It was a bad fight.

They won, a lot of money in fact, enough to cover both of their rents for a few months. But, the hollowed expression on Flint’s bruised and bloodied face told Silver that despite the money, it was still a bad fight.

Silver unlocked the front door to his dingy studio, which was mostly empty. There was a coffee table with some cushions placed around it. A small TV/VCR combo sat on the table, with a few tapes stacked atop it. And lastly, next to the table sat a futon, unfolded, sheets in disarray.

Flint followed him in through the door, saying nothing, and kicked off his shoes. The typical way he held thunder and lightning within him, rumbling beneath his surface, ready to strike at any time, had all dissipated. Back in the ring, Silver recognized almost the exact moment when Flint decided that he was going to go for the full cache. It showed in the way he entered his center stage, under the makeshift spot light. Green, green eyes burning holes into Singleton, as he turned absolutely every strand of muscular fiber to attention. He had a goal he aimed to meet that fight, and though Singleton put up quite the struggle, Flint met it. As Flint dropped his duffel bag onto the floor, giving a soft _thunk_ , Silver noted how detailed his accountings of Flint were becoming recently. 

“Here, you sit down, alright?” Silver held his tone softer than usual. Flint was attempting to fetch the first aid from the bathroom himself. Tonight though, Silver wasn’t going to let his stubborn independence get the best of him. “I’ll get the kit,” he assured. 

To his surprise, Flint didn’t protest, only sparing Silver a brief glance as he walked passed. Something deep in Silver’s chest panged a few times as he made his way into the kitchen, recalling the despair in those annoyingly green eyes as he put the kettle on. 

After setting out mugs, then grabbing the kit from the bathroom, Silver returned, shrugging out of his jacket. Flint just stared at the floor blankly, thoughts recycling through his mind, like the tide when it’s had enough that day. Silver didn’t know, because he wasn’t there in the hallway, before the fight, when Singleton had threatened John in front of Flint. Hissing, the scar on his face contorting his sneer, burning it into Flint’s mind.

“After I beat you, old man,” Singleton harassed him, voice gravelly, trying to use his height to posture over Flint, “I’m gonna fuck your boyfriend’s throat, then _slice_ it.”

Flint said nothing, his eyes did all the talking when rage rose within him. The fire had erupted to life almost immediately, raking deeply at his bones. It wouldn’t dawn on him until later though, the title Silver was given, and that he didn’t notice in the moment. Instead, he was instantly engulfed by such a fury at the simple utterance of a threat towards his manager, his friend.

Hands found him, helping him out of his own jacket, pulling Flint back into the present, back onto the futon. They were warm and familiar, fingers long, clad in rings. He looked over at Silver, who was beside him now, sitting close, leg touching his. 

“There we go,” the other man said, his curls falling loose in front of his face from behind his ear. Flint had the horrible urge to push them out of the way, but he silenced it before it got too loud. _Feel no shame, my love,_ echoed somewhere softly in the back of his mind. Then a louder voice asked, _Out of the way of what?_

Flint was watching him intently, Silver could feel his gaze upon him. His big blue eyes flicked up for a second, a bashful smile touching his lips before he grabbed one of the boxer’s hands, to tend to the blood on his fingers. After a minute of Silver silently cleaning the suspiciously complacent Flint’s hand, and Flint silently watching Silver do this, he decided to speak.

“You haven’t said a word for almost an hour. I’ll admit it’s starting to freak me out a little,” Silver looked back up into his eyes, in an attempt to get Flint to engage.

“What do I say?” Flint grunted, keeping his gaze easily, though his brows gave away to something not of annoyance, like his tone implied.

Silver smiled, “Well, there’s a good start.” A small chuckle escaped him, and he looked back up as he exchanged Flint’s hand for the other. The older man’s expression looked pained, his eyes dark, he looked at their hands as Silver laid the other’s on top of his open palm. Silver had to admit that this flavor of Flint was unsettling to him, he wasn’t used to seeing just a man in Flint’s stead. No, he had grown accustomed to the old wrathful god that was James “Flint” McGraw. The kettle started to whistle, Flint’s eyes fell from his as Silver looked behind him towards the sound. 

Was he a monster for killing another monster, Flint wondered to himself, while Silver was off in the kitchen. His hand absently ran over the warm spot on the futon where the younger man was just sitting. What a horrible thought, that the warmth of Silver would too eventually pass after he left.

Not a moment later, that same man returned, too mugs in his hands with tea tags hanging from them. The soft sound of porcelain being set on wood drew Flint’s gaze to the coffee table. Silver sat next to him again, just as close as before-- a little closer perhaps-- returning the warmth. All the while Flint silently marveled that a single threat on John’s emotional and physical well being was all it took for him to decide to take a man’s life.

“It’s Chamomile,” Silver told him, assuming his intense scrutiny of the mugs was a silent question of their content. “I know you prefer earl grey, but it’s far too late for caffeine, don’t you think? I--”

“John,” Flint interrupted him, his voice was strained and raspy. Silver froze, his brain screeching to a halt while trying to recall the last time Flint spoke his first name. If Flint had ever spoken his first name.

“What is it?” Silver finally managed to get out, after what felt like too long of a silence. When Flint looked back up to him, his eyes were bloodshot and misty, his brow knit intensely, red starting to flush out the freckles on his face.

 _Oh no_ , thought Silver, as the first tear fell. The dam was cracking. Flint’s eyes held Silver’s, but he seemed to be miles away. They drifted down his face, to his throat, lingering there. It sent a tension through Silver’s shoulders, his heart picking up its beat, eyes jumping around Flint’s face, trying to figure out where this was coming from.

“Hey,” Silver reached out, placing his hand on the other’s arm. This brought Flint back to him, his eyes focusing into Silver’s again, and he finally cracked. 

Flint let out a choked sob, beginning to let his head droop, drawing him forward. Silver found himself wrapping his arms around the larger man, who fell into his chest, grabbing at his shirt. Admittedly, Silver found himself unsure of what exactly to do. In a thousand years he was not anticipating on this being Flint’s reaction to taking someone’s life. He’d seen Flint do it a few times now, mostly in self defense in back alleys, but this was altogether more complicated. He couldn’t yet tell whether or not it was something Flint _enjoyed_ , but never had he been like this afterwards. 

Usually they would get a drink following a fight, go back to their respective apartments, then meet at Gates’ Gym in the morning. Now, there they were, on Silver’s crappy futon, Flint losing all composure against him.

Silver rubbed his back as Flint cried quietly into his chest. Lost in his own thoughts, one hand found its way into Flint’s hair. Its softness pulled him back to earth, glad that his blush went unseen as he removed the hand as easily as he put it there. After some time, Flint seemed to have finished, though he hadn’t sat back up yet, and Silver hadn’t released his arms from around him.

Eventually though they did disengage, Silver’s arms loosening from around Flint, who was wiping at his eyes as he leaned back up. Silver decided not to spare a glance at his own top, now damp with probably more than just tears. Flint was quietly staring at the tea again.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Silver cut through the unsettled silence, his soft bewilderment sounding much louder in that moment.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Flint responded, his voice much raspier than before. He grasped one of the handles, bringing the mug up to his lips to gently blow on the liquid, though it was no longer steaming. Silver couldn’t help but mark that quirk of Flint’s down in whatever record he had been keeping without his own knowledge.

“Let me finish cleaning you up, at least,” Silver said to him, almost pleading. His eyes were so fucking earnest, their blueness strained against Flint’s heart strings. He set the mug back down after taking a drink, thankfully it was still warm enough to be enjoyable.

“Alright,” was Flint’s response. He watched Silver, who appeared to be extremely focused, clean his remaining wounds. Flint only winced a couple times, bringing a small, “Sorry,” from Silver each time. After some thought, Flint decided he didn’t care what Silver was thinking about his break down. He got the feeling that Silver wasn’t going to ask, and Flint wasn’t going to tell, which suited him just fine in that moment. Though, watching Silver’s eyes jump around his face while he nursed his abrasions, accompanied by the feeling of warm hands holding onto his head, wouldn’t let him ignore how raw he felt inside. 

“There. I think you won’t die of infection now.” Silver’s smile was more nervous than charming this time, as he begun to put the first aid kit back together. “At least not today,” he added, amused with himself. Flint went back for his tea. After returning the kit to its proper home, Silver came back, and stood with his hands on his hips, beside the other man.

“Do you wanna watch Rocky?” he asked hopefully, unsure of what Flint’s response would be. It was getting late, and even when they would end up at Silver’s apartment after the bar, Flint didn’t usually stay past midnight.

Flint looked up at him with his stupid green eyes, some of the light returning to them. Apparently, Flint needed that cry, which Silver was fine with, just as he was fine with helping him through it. He wasn’t sure if there was something more to this yet, but he suspected its likelihood. There was usually always something more with James Flint. That man was a set of Russian nesting dolls, with all of his secrets held close in the center most one, Silver had no doubt about that.

“Yeah,” Flint finally grunted back, looking away from Silver again, “that sounds good.”

Silver smiled wide.

Flint glanced back up at him. “Stop smiling.”

Silver’s only response was a genuine laugh, before he crouched down turning to the small television on the coffee table in one fluid motion. He decided he wasn’t going to try and dissect what emotions they had just shared between them, there were just too many veins to go down. Too many questions that he wasn’t willing to find the answers to yet. Such as the one asking him why he was so intent on keeping Flint there, in his apartment, that night.

After slipping the tape into the VCR, Silver returned to the futon, ushering Flint to get more comfortable, so he could too. He picked up his mug of tea as the federal copyright warning flickered onto the little screen, and leaned back, sitting close to Flint again.

At some point during the first half of the movie, Flint was leaned flush against Silver’s side, a steady, warm presence. Flint didn’t say anything about, but a wall or two that he kept around him might have casually crumbled in this time. Silver, on the other hand, was attempting extremely hard to disassociate from the how wonderful he found this situation. When was the last time his blood pumped like this?

By the end, they had fallen asleep, Silver’s arms having found their way around Flint again, like they belonged there. The credits finished rolling and the TV blue screened, which roused both of them, though they wouldn’t remember it. After Silver turned it off, and the lamp next to the bed, he laid down, getting more comfortable for a proper sleep. Flint followed suit, tucking his head against Silvers chest, looping an arm under him. Silver’s hand embedded itself in Flint’s ginger locks, and they both promptly drifted back into total unconsciousness.

It was the early morning, when Flint awoke to _someone_ pressed against his back, with their arms around him. His mind played a trick on him at first, as dawn started to break. For a minute, he forgot where he was, _when_ he was, and _who_ he was with. It was Silver’s lingering cologne from the night before that shook him back into the present, a headache slamming down on him like a sudden crash of bricks. His eyes shot open, bridge of his nose throbbing to life.

After some delicate movements, Flint managed to free himself from the embrace of John Silver without waking him. This was not a thought he ever anticipated himself having. But nothing that happened the night before Flint _anticipated_ , especially not waking up in the arms of a man the next morning, and not just any man. This was something he found himself not hating, but he did hate _that._

He got up smoothly, as to not stir Silver. Flint wouldn’t even know where to begin if he had to face a drowsy Silver right then. Scooping his jacket and duffel bag from the floor, he slipped his sneakers back on, then quietly opened the front door.

Flint spared a final look towards the other man’s sleeping from. Silver’s dark curls were thrown above him, sun rippling over sheets romantically tossed amidst his scattered legs. A tanned back was facing Flint, muscles flexing as it begun turning away from the opposite wall, and _towards him_. With that, he took off, silently closing the door behind him. Though the pounding of blood in his ears may have just made it seem that way. Much to his chagrin, he found the source of most of his issues that morning revolving around John Silver. 

He considered skipping the gym that day, wondering if all he needed was a proper sleep to put his head back on straight. As he walked to his own apartment in the brisk early morning, something gnawed at him in the back of his mind, as though he wasn’t going to be able to do such a thing over the man, John Silver. And Flint did not like that.

 

~*~


End file.
